A Good Pair of Boots
by Wofl
Summary: Swamp Monsters and brotherly snark. Gen. PG-13. Humor/casefic. I'm gonna say circa S1.


Collab fic with my younger sister. Is that weird? Anyways, totally unbeta-d and totally old, I'm just sick of being a lazy non-writing author. Feel free to yell at me and tell me to finish things. nods

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"I know we've fought some crazy stuff," Sam spoke with a tone of dismissal, "but a swamp monster?? Isn't that kind of stuff is for bad, late-night sci-fi movies and Scooby Doo?"

"Sam, let's just go see," Dean said. He was considering an attempt at making Sam's puppy dog look but knew he would just end up looking like he was going to vomit. Instead, he decided to go with a different approach, "besides, we haven't found anything else that looks legi-" Dean was cut off by Sam's laughter.

"You call that legitimate?" Sam mused wiping a tear from his eye. "Ok, we'll go, but we're gonna make a bet. If there's nothing there, I win."

"Ok, but if there _is_ something, I win." Dean grinned almost evilly. "Whoever is wrong has to dress up as a dog, collar and all. Whoever is right gets to be the master."

"Shake on it." Sam proclaimed extending his hand for a shake that would become as binding (and possibly more horrible) as a deal with the devil. Dean reached for Sam's hand, gripped it and shook. Each had a smug expression because they were both sure that the other was going to be wearing a collar when this was over.

Dean and Sam were loading their things into the Impala. Sam yawned and asked in a sleepy voice, "so where is this 'swamp monster', Velma?" Dean - who was not listening - smirked thinking about Sam wearing a collar and ears. "Dean?" Sam said, pulling Dean from his daydream that included making Sam beg for treats. " Where are we headed?" Sam repeated knowing he had his brother's attention.

"Just outside Baxter State Park in Maine. Quite a trip isn't it?" Dean closed the trunk. "So how are we going to get rid of the swamp monster?"

"Well," Sam said using a mock-thoughtful tone, "jinkies, Daphne we'll just have to split up and look for clues!"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Seriously man, when have you ever heard of way to kill a swamp monster?"

"It doesn't matter, Dean," Sam said as they each opened a door to the Impala and got in the car. "because there is no swamp monster."

"So can you tell us the easiest way to get here?" Sam asked the waitress, pointing to a spot on the map on the wall above the computer.

She brushed her bangs out of her face and proceeded to explain to the brothers how to get to the spot Sam indicated on the wall. Sam was really hoping that Dean was paying attention to what she was saying because he was too busy staring at her to listen. Her hair was dark green, and she had a couple peircings-- not really what Sam considered his type but she was just hot!

"...and thats how you get here," she finished, touching the spot that Sam's finger had been a minute earlier. "When you're done, I'll ring you up down at that counter," she said pointing in the direction of the door and walked back into the kitchen. Sam goggled after her.

"Sam, we need you back on Earth now." Dean grinned and waved his hand in Sam's face. "She's not what you usually go after, Sam, but I like your taste."

"What are you talking about?" Sam asked, trying to look confused instead of embarrassed. He failed miserably. Dean shook his head and sighed.

"Dude, if you think she's hot, just ask for her number," Dean said, because he had a LOT of experience in the field of getting girls' numbers. "Well, I gotta take a leak. You go take care of the bill, leave a big tip, and get that chick's number."

Sam headed over to the counter feeling nervous. "What did you have for drinks?" she asked searching for the right slip with their order on it.

"Two Dr. Peppers," Sam said, though he was somewhat surprised, because a second ago he hadn't felt capable of human speech.

She punched in in the numbers and declared the price. Sam pulled the bills out of his wallet and handed them to her. He pulled an extra ten out and stuffed it in the tip jar, taking extra care to make sure she saw. "Here's your change," she said handing the money over to Sam who dumped that into the tip jar too.

"Uhh," Sam muttered, "listen I think we should hang out sometime. Can I have your number?" He smiled hopefully. To his surprise she grinned and scribbled her name and number onto a piece of paper and handed it to him.

Sam waited in the car for Dean who came out a couple minutes later and shot a quizzical look at Sam.

"So?" Dean said not bothering to form a question. Sam pulled from his pocket the paper that had the girl's name and number and flashed it at his brother. "'Atta boy Sammy! I toldja' all you had to do was ask." Dean punched his brother in the arm.

After following the directions that the waitress had given them, they headed out on the trail to search for their quarry that wasn't necessarily there. They were planning to search the area that the eyewitnesses claimed to have come from. Sam (not surprisingly) was reading the file in which the news paper articles relating to this particular job resided.

"Yeesh, Dean, you better be getting your Scooby costume ready because according to this article the acidic burns supposedly caused by the 'swamp monster'" Sam used air quotes once again, "are really just caused by pollution." Sam grinned at the thought of taking Dean to the park and making him play Frisbee.

"Sam," Dean interrupted Sam's fantasy this time. "That's probably what the police or rangers told the papers because they needed a rational explanation. They couldn't just say 'well I guess there is a swamp monster in the woods.' Nobody would take them seriously" he rationalized. Sam couldn't couldn't deny that there was a chance that Dean was right.

The rest of the traveling was relatively quiet until Dean shouted back to Sam from ahead. "Sam! Hey, this looks like a good place to set up camp!" and Sam went to help set up their tent. They had to make quick work of setting up their camp because it was getting towards dusk and it was one of the rules that their father had ground into their head that unless it was specifically called for, hunting at night should be avoided at all costs.

By the time they were finished erecting the tent and had food, they were both somewhat tired. So they settled into their sleeping bags and were each left to their thoughts. Both included what they were planning to do when the other had to dress up as a dog.

Sam woke the next morning with his body pressed tightly against another. Due to the fact that he was only partially awake and that he enjoyed the warmth, he did not realize who's body was near his own. Even as he thought this, he realized his brother was the only person who could possibly be close to him.

"Dean?" he said tentatively, hoping what he suspected was not true.

"Mmmmh?" even at this noise, Sam knew that his brother was indeed the source of heat. He could feel it when Dean's voice rumbled through Sam's ribcage.

"Are you?... Dean are you cuddling me?" Sam knew no matter what, he wouldn't like his answer.

"What? No! I wasn't cuddling you." Dean replied, pulling away from Sam. Though he wouldn't admit it, Sam almost regretted it - it was fucking _cold_. Sam thought he heard his brother mutter, "besides it was cold last night." Sam chose to ignore that. He just wanted to get this job over and done with. He and Dean were already scrambling to get their clothes changed.

They headed towards what the map indicated as a swampy area. Dean thought this was the best way to go, seeing as they were looking for a swamp monster. Sam, leading the way this time, exclaimed, "Zoinks! Shaggy, a clue!"

Before Dean could tell Sam to knock it off with the Scooby Doo references already, he spotted what Sam was pointing to.

"Holy shit!" Dean said while he examined the large footprints on either side of what looked to be a trail from the underbelly of a large... something. "Told you, Sam. The swamp monster is legit."

"Come on," Sam pursed his lips, annoyed. "Let's see where it goes."

They followed the trail for quite a while. The farther they went, the soggier the ground became. It was becoming harder to discern the trail that the swamp monster was leaving. "Dean." Sam whispered pointing. The fact that they were losing the trail of this mysterious monster was no longer important.

It wasn't exactly an alligator, and it wasn't exactly a turtle. It was some crazy mix of both, and maybe a little fish and frog DNA thrown into the batch for kicks. Dean really hoped there weren't more of these things because day-um, it was FUGLY. It had a long gator snout – its teeth, tiny gleaming nubs poking crookedly out of its mouth. It had some strange mix of flippers and feet; long toes ending in hooked claws webbed together with leathery looking skin.

It had a shell. A goddamn shell. A vertical stripe traced right down the middle of it – some crazy sort of fin, was what it looked like. And despite its entirely awkward body, one glance at its legs was enough to tell Dean that the creature would be able to _move_ were it to be so inclined. Even now, the plainly visible muscles trembled beneath the scaled skin, as if it were simply _waiting_ for them to take one step closer. _Daring_ them to, so it could lunge, grab them, and pull them down.

Which Dean had no intentions of doing.

"Woah!" he heard Sam exclaim. And before he could tell Sam to keep his distance, Sam was stepping closer, just a few feet, and leaning in to get a better look at the thing. But it was enough. So of course Dean had to follow, and just as he reached out to grab Sam's arm and haul him back away from Mr. Turgator, the thing _hissed_ at them, its jaws opening wide to give them a good long look at the rows of jagged teeth, tongue waggling in warning.

And before they could heed said warning, it spat at them much like a cobra might, the dropletts smattering down onto their boots. (Thank _God_ they hadn't been closer.)

Suddenly, the reports of acidic burns made a whole lot more sense because _holy shit_ their boots were _gone_. Just a hiss and a poof of acrid smelling smoke and they were both standing there in stocking feet, staring wide-eyed at the mutated creature. As one, they backed up, giving their new friend a generously wide berth.

Dean scratched his head.

Sam wrinkled his nose.

"Man, those were brand new boots!" Dean scuffed at the dirt with his socks.

"It's not a swamp monster," Sam replied, turning to Dean with a grin. "That means you lose, Fido."

Dean met Sam's smile with a smirk of his own. "Actually, Sammy, the bet was that if there was _something_ here, I win." He quirked his eyebrows and pointed at the thing. "That looks like something to me."

"Shit," Sam cursed, realizing his fatal mistake. Because technicality or not, Dean was entirely right. And they'd decreed sometime in the late eighties that wording definitely counted when making bets. It was written in the rules. How could he have forgotten that? "Shut up," he snapped irritably.

"I didn't say anything!" Dean protested, face lit up like a jack-o-lantern.

"No, but I know you were gonna," Sam bitched with a glare. "I lost. I get it. Can we put the gloating on hold until we take care of Lake Placid meets the Simpsons?"

"The Simpsons?"

"Dude! That thing has three eyes!"

Dean peered at the thing closer, taking another precautionary step backwards when it hissed again. Sure enough, it had a third eye planted just below the spot where the normal right eye was. "The Simpsons fish had its third eye right in the middle," he contested, pointing to the middle of his forehead. Now he was just being stubborn to get a rise out of Sam.

"What_ever_," Sam growled, clearly annoyed, and growing moreso as his brother continued to act like the complete ass he was. "Doesn't change the fact that we need to kill it before it melts someone's face off."

"Dude. It's not a swamp monster." Dean said.

"Finally willing to admit you were wrong, Dean? How noble." Bitchy Sam was a sarcastic Sam. His words were all bite.

"Not what I meant," Dean brushed off the snide remark. "It's just some genetic freak, right?"

"Looks like," Sam shrugged.

"Well then..." Dean pulled up the back of his shirt and snagged his handgun out of the waistband of his jeans. Without an instant of hesitation he fired off an entire clip into the thing's head. Total overkill. It gave a startled half-shriek as the first bullet struck its face, but by the time the second one hit it, it had strangled off into a choked death rattle.

Easiest. Monster. EVER.

"All done," Dean said simply, slipping his gun back into its place. "Let's get out of here."

Sam blinked. Once. Twice. Okay. It was still dead. Surely it couldn't be that easy! _Dear God PLEASE don't let it be that easy._ Sam swallowed, almost wishing the creature back to life. Because as long as they had a job to do, he could delay paying up for the bet he'd lost.

But it _was_ that easy. And the thing was still dead. Lifeless, harmless, distraction-less. Sam felt like kicking it for being such a wuss. Dammit.

"Uhh, Sam," Dean interrupted Sam's train of thought. "We don't have any boots."

"Stunning obsevation, Captain Obvious." Sam's bitterness was apparent. "Couldn't have figured _that_ out by myself."

"well that means we're going to have to walk out of here in our socks." Dean looked at the turgator and wished he could kill it again for making him walk out of the woods without shoes. "This is seriously going to suck."

Their socks were covered in dark brown swamp mud and their feet ached. Occasionally one would let a moan of pain because their foot had struck a rock or root. Their tempers rising with each step they took.

Sam groaned. "I would give anything for my boots," he seethed through clenched teeth.

"Know what you mean. I never understood why Dad was so obsessed with boots," Dean agreed " He used to spend more on one pair of boots than all the rest of our clothes combined."

Sam smiled at the thought. "I remember that he would make us wear each pair until they fell apart or we couldn't fit our feet in them."

"Never really appreciated a good pair of shoes until I couldn't wear them." Dean would have smirked, but couldn't because he knew there was still quite a distance to the Impala and his feet _really_ hurt. The older Winchester decided that there was need of a new subject.

"Hey Sam," he said, eyeing and picking up a stick. He shook the thing in front of Sam's face before lobbing it into the woods off to their right. "Fetch, boy!"


End file.
